“Surprised?” he asked with a low chuckle.

“Hurry up,” I hissed. “Someone’s going to catch us.”

The door swung open and by the time I turned around, Wheeler was already inside. He poked his head out. “Are you waiting for the bus? Get in here.”

I rolled my eyes and closed the door behind me.

Wheeler folded his arms and lowered his chin. I studied his profile as he approached the mahogany desk. The lines in his face were sharp beneath his facial hair, giving him such a hardened appearance. It seemed contradictory to his soft lips and the intelligence brimming in his eyes.

“Whose office is this?” he asked, lifting an ivory figurine of an elephant from the desk. “Because he has shit taste.”

“Didn’t you read the sign on the door? This is Damian Delgado’s office—the owner of the club.”

Wheeler spun around. Then he took another careful look at the room, tugging at the fabric of his black shirt. “So this is where the big cheese hangs out,” he murmured.

“I think he might have something to do with the missing girls. You know the laws on slander; I can’t make an accusation without proof.”

He walked around the polished desk and sat in the brown leather chair. “What makes you think he’s involved?”

I placed my hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Because I’ve worked in dozens of clubs, and I know a thing or two about owners. They don’t like trouble, but if a girl goes missing, that’s something they would immediately address with the staff. I’ve never spoken to this man—he’s never once walked the floor. What kind of owner is that?”

“The human kind.”

I straightened up and my heart raced. “What makes you say that?”

Wheeler leaned back in the chair and put his black boots on the desk, crossing his ankles. “That’s the word, but I can see by the look on your face that it doesn’t come as a surprise. He’s been stirring up trouble in our world for years. Our laws protect humans, so we can’t take him down. He must have paid through the nose to buy up these joints. They make a helluva lot more than the human clubs; that’s just a fact.” He turned his arm slowly, looking at one of his tattoos twisting around like a vine.

I slinked around to the right side and bumped his chair so hard that his feet slipped off the edge of the desk. “This isn’t a day spa. Either guard the door like a good little wolf or help me.”

“Help you what?”

I knelt down and pulled open a lower drawer. “Look for incriminating evidence. Don’t you watch crime shows? Anything that looks suspicious.”

“A smart man doesn’t leave evidence lying around for someone to find.”

“Maybe he’s not a smart man. Search those drawers and I’ll look through these.”

Wheeler pulled open a drawer with a theatrical flick of his wrist. “Well, that sounds like a swell idea. What do we have in here? Oh, look. Pornography.” He held up an adult magazine at arm’s length and flipped open the page. “This position looks awfully incriminating to me.”